


The Start of Something New

by Just_Ky



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 17:20:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6160852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_Ky/pseuds/Just_Ky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry knew that eveything would change when Draco walked into the pub. He just wished he could remember <i>how</i> it had happened! AU. Written pre-DH.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Start of Something New

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of my older fics, but I still sorta like it, so I thought I would move it over to this site as well. It was written prior to Deathly Hallows, so it is straight-up AU at this point.

****

********** The Start of Something New **********

Harry had isolated himself so much since the end of the war that they’d both been a bit surprised when he suddenly took the job at the Muggle pub in a small town near Ottery St. Catchpole. That was until Hermione and Ron went to go visit him one night about a month later while he was at work. He looked busy, so they took a table in line of sight of the bar, which was packed with people, and sat quietly waiting for him to come over to them.

It took him a bit longer than they would have expected; mainly because it seemed that everyone wanted Harry’s attention. However, it wasn’t just for drinks. He joked and laughed with them. Many of them seemed to be regulars, since he asked about friends and family that he obviously knew, though they weren’t present that night.

Harry fairly skipped his way over to his friends, and collapsed exhausted into an empty chair. “I only got a few, guys. Then they will be demanding refills. What can I do you for?” 

Ron started to place an order, but Hermione laid a hand on her husband’s arm. “We just wanted to come see you. No need to get us drinks.”

“Oh, thank Merlin! I’m exhausted.” But he was sporting a big grin on his face even as he said it.

“Oh, you like working here, I can tell.” Hermione smiled over at her best friend.

Harry continued to grin. “I do. I really do. I would have gone crazy if I’d done what you two did and taken jobs at the Ministry.” He shook his head, “Dealing with people like Scrimgeour every day. No way. But here, these people are all good people. Every single one of them.”

“And none of them know who you are, do they?” Hermione said knowingly.

“Not a one of them. You two are, I believe, the first non-Muggles to step foot into this place. Here, I’m just plain John Black.” Harry fairly beamed with that information.

For six months, it had miraculously stayed that way. Harry Potter, the Saviour of the Wizarding World, managed to work four nights a week at a small hole-in-the-wall, with Hermione and Ron Weasley being the only witch and wizard to enter the establishment. Not even the press seemed to be aware of the development. 

Then one day he entered. 

Hermione Granger knew everything was going to change for her best friend.

In fact, she was counting on it.

****

***************

“What the bloody hell is the Ferret doing here?” Ron asked as Harry brought him another mug of beer.

“I don’t know, Ron, but don’t start anything, all right? I’m the one that would get in trouble.”

Ron gave the blond a once over. Grey eyes glared back in challenge. “Fine,” Ron snickered, “but if he starts something, we’re stepping outside.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes at her husband’s antics.

Harry walked to the other end of the bar and slid an ashtray under Draco’s cigarette right before the long pile of ash dropped off. He shot a glare at the Slytherin before asking in his most politely biting tone, “Anything else I can get you, Malfoy?”

“Why, Potter, fancy seeing you here.” Malfoy may not have been sneering, but his tone and the way he looked down his nose at Harry were still the arrogant attitude that Harry remembered from Hogwarts.

“Oh, cut the crap, Malfoy. You knew I worked here when you walked in. Why else would you be here? A Muggle pub in the middle of nowhere? And I go by Black here. You should have no trouble remembering that name.” Harry whispered the last bit of his statement before raising his voice again. “Now, are you going to order or simply waste my time?”

“Scotch on the rocks.”

Harry poured Malfoy his drink, and then returned to working the rest of the bar. He ignored the blond from then on out. The other patrons, though, were obviously curious and kept giving glances in his direction.

He stayed long after his drink was finished.

****

***************

The next night that Malfoy returned, Harry didn’t even bother speaking to him. He simply slid the glass of scotch down the bar. Draco caught it smoothly and gave him a smirk. “Ah, you remembered. How sweet.”

Harry grunted and walked back over to continue his conversation that he’d been having with a local before Malfoy walked in the door.

The spot between his shoulders itched, letting him know that Malfoy was glaring at him.

****

***************

Draco became a regular, though he never spoke to anyone other than to occasionally insult Harry. He simply sat at the edge of the bar, same stool night after night, and listened to the conversations as they hummed across the room. Every once in awhile, if the occasion called for it, he would raise his glass in a silent toast to some one who’d shared good news with the crowd. On the night that the pub owner, Bruce, announced his wife had given birth to a baby boy, he had quietly said that drinks were on him.

That was the closest he ever came to having a conversation. Slowly, Harry began to lose the animosity he felt at having his sanctuary breached, and began to wonder why Malfoy continued to come there.

Surely, he thought, it couldn’t be just to torment him.

He wondered about it more often than he’d like to admit.

****

***************

Harry probably would have continued simply being quietly curious if it hadn’t been for something as clichéd as the weather. Spring storms had been rampaging across the countryside and Bruce called him to tell him that the bridge that led to town from his house was washed out. As he believed it, Harry lived right down the road from the pub in a small apartment that he’d sublet over the antiques shop. Since he was so close, would he mind opening on his own? Just in case anybody managed to swim their way in for a drink.

Harry Apparated to the spot behind the dumpster that he usually used when he was running late and didn’t have time to actually stop by the apartment above the antiques shop and walk from there. Even after a quick sprint to the back door of the pub, he was still soaked by the time he got the key into the lock.

Somehow, he doubted anybody would be coming in tonight. This was the only reason he could give for the squeal he emitted when he opened the front doors to see someone wrapped in a dripping leather trench coat, trying to smoke a rather damp cigarette.

“Malfoy?”

“Are you going to get out of the way, Potter, so I can enter, or are you going to let me drown out here?” Draco drawled even as he pushed past Harry and sauntered into the empty pub.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here on a night like this, Malfoy? There’s a bloody monsoon outside!”

“You noticed that, did you, Potter? Not as thick as I thought. Let me tell you, though, the weather’s beautiful in London.”

Harry rolled his eyes as Draco whipped out his wand and cast a drying charm over himself. He sighed in relief before he took his normal stool.

“Then why didn’t you stay in London?” Harry decided that since Draco was the only patron, he would allow himself the same luxury. He tried not to let the Slytherin know that he obviously wasn’t as good at drying charms, but by the way Malfoy smirked at him, he probably realized that Harry’s jeans were still quite damp in places.

Harry poured Draco his usual and slid it down the bar into his waiting hands. After a moment of hesitation, he poured the same for himself: a scotch, neat. Draco raised an eyebrow at him. “Drinking on the job, Potter. Shame, shame. What would the boss say?”

“On a night like this, Bruce would understand. It is doubtful anybody will come in.” He glared at the blond momentarily. “Anyone else, that is. You never did say what you’re doing here.”

****

***************

As Harry opened the door to the small apartment above the antique shop, Draco raised a brow and attempted to smirk at him. The smirk didn’t quite work since he already had a drunken smile on his face.

“You live in this shit hole, Potter?”

Harry scoffed slightly. “Hardly. I stay here occasionally, but ‘Mione hooked the Floo up so that it leads to my house. Ministry doesn’t know about it. She did a direct connect instead of putting it on the network.” Harry knew he was beaming proudly now.

“Fancy an Unspeakable to know how to do that.” Draco attempted a nod and almost toppled, so Harry tightened the hold on his shoulders, hoping they both didn’t fall as he reached for the Floo Powder. He wasn’t feeling too steady himself.

As soon as he tossed in the handful of dust the fire roared green, and he pushed Draco in before him rather ungracefully. He chuckled at the offended “ _hey_ ” that he heard before the Slytherin disappeared. No destination was needed since there was only one connection on the line, so he imagined the other young man landing in a heap on his tan carpet, and he smiled.

A moment later he tumbled out in his own heap. Draco stood above him rubbing his buttock and glaring at him. “That was uncalled for.”

“I thought it was funny.”

“Do you think _that_ is funny, too?” Harry looked up to see Draco pointing at a rather sleepy and annoyed Ron, who had his wand pointed directly at Draco’s chest. 

Harry snickered. “Yeah, I do.” He took in the sight of his best friend’s hair, plastered up on one side and to his face on the other. “Morning, Ron.”

“It’s two-thirty, Harry. That isn’t morning. What’s the Ferret doing here?”

“I was worried he’d splinch himself if he tried to Apparate. He’s rather pissed.”

“Why didn’t you leave him at the apartment?”

“Oh, come on. Don’t you want to see him when he wakes up miserable and hung-over tomorrow?”

Ron lowered his wand.

“Potter, why is the Weasel in your house?”

Harry scrubbed a hand through his short, damp hair. “Ron and Hermione live here. Didn’t I mention that?”

“You most certainly did not. If I’d known I was staying the night with three Gryffindorks, instead of just one, I’d have risked splinching. No body part is worth that.”

“I can think of a few.” Harry snickered. “Come on. I’ll show you to my rooms.”

“Your rooms?”

“Yeah. They have their own wing. I mean, they’re newlyweds. You don’t think I want to sleep within hearing distance of them, do you?”

As he started to lead Malfoy off, he noticed that the Slytherin was contemplating the house around him differently, and he seemed to be looking at Harry with slightly more respect, too.

As he disappeared from the foyer he heard Ron yell down the hall, “Sleep with one eye open, Harry!” He chuckled slightly. However, both he and Draco lost it, falling over with giggles when Ron yelled, “Constant vigilance!”

****

***************

Draco was unsure of what had awoken him; he was disoriented as he looked around for some source that had disrupted his sleep. The room was dark, but the bedcovers were soft, so he wasn’t too concerned at first with where he was; that is until he blearily noticed that everything was predominately a deep crimson red. The pale moonlight glittered off the gilding on the torch sconces, and for a moment he feared he was again having that nightmare where he was sorted into Gryffindor.

He was reminded that it was merely a drinking binge with Potter when he became aware of the pounding in his skull. The nightmare fled, though the ghastly décor remained.

He groaned as he climbed from the thickly padded bed and the blood rushed behind his eyes. He knew he must look a sight; pale eyes blood-shot, clothes wrinkled, and his hair all mussed from sleep. He picked up his wand and cast quick grooming charms on his hair and clothes before he crept down the shadowed hall to the first doorway he found, opening it to hear a soft snore. A soft hoot from the corner showed him Potter’s snowy white owl perched in a small alcove. He grinned at the torment he could cause, being in Potter’s domain.

He was, however, vastly curious about why he was stuck in a bright red monstrosity of a guest room while Harry Potter, Prat who Saved the World, was sleeping soundly surrounded by shades of Slytherin.

He crept into the opened door across the room, guessing it was an en-suite bathroom. First choice led him to a closet. His second try, though, brought him to a beautifully decorated bathroom. He whistled softly at Potter’s taste as he looked around the marble and cream decorations.

He cursed softly when he knocked against a shelf and something clattered into the sink basin. Reaching in to grab it, he laughed softly when he realized it was a silver backed hairbrush. ‘ _So Potter owns one after all?_ ’ he couldn’t help thinking to himself.

A quick search of the cupboard, and he found potions labeled as sobriety and hangover tonics. He was glad that living with the brain had apparently taught Potter some brewing skills. Or perhaps it was the necessity of being a bartender.

He leaned his head against the cool glass of the mirror as he waited for them to take effect. They worked rather quickly, which led Draco back to his original assessment that Granger must help Harry with his brewing.

Once his vision was no longer blurry and he couldn’t feel his heartbeat in his temples, Draco wondered back into Harry’s bedroom so he could look around better. Other than the thick bed hangings and curtains, both of which were tied open, the room showed very little decoration. A small fireplace stood on one wall, and its mantel carried several pictures: Harry at Ron and Hermione’s wedding, a picture of Albus, one of Professor Lupin and Draco’s cousin, Nymphadora. Surprisingly, he even had one of Severus Snape. Draco’s own godfather sat off in the distance of several witches and wizards that Draco knew to be members of the Order of the Phoenix.

In the center of the mantel, amidst all the pictures of Potter’s loved ones, Voldemort’s wand lay in pieces, gathering dust. Somehow, Draco thought its final fate here was more befitting than if it had been put on display as a treasure in the Ministry museum with other war artifacts.

Draco turned from the broken wand to study the sleeping wizard – the man who’d destroyed Voldemort and shattered his magic into the broken pieces of wood that gathered useless age on the mantelpiece. A slight scowl marred his face for a moment as he thought about what Harry had said in the bar about why he’d done it, and about why he now lived as John Black.

Draco didn’t really understand all of what he’d said. Though he’d eventually fought on the side of Light, he’d never done it for the Muggles, or even really the Muggleborns, though he’d learned compassion for them after the war. He fought to save wizards from Voldemort. Wizards like himself and his mother and Pansy Parkinson.

Though he was unable to do the last. She’d died, just like Ginny Weasley. Another pureblood death that could be laid at that maniac’s feet.

He drew closer to Potter, studying him as he was lost in his reverie.

The Dark Lord had cursed the Weaslette to punish Potter, just as he’d cursed Pansy to punish Draco for failing to kill Dumbledore. But he wasn’t merciful – the Dark Lord was never that. He’d somehow found a way to poison their magic, so they died suffering, and the war was long over before they had succumbed. St. Mungo’s had looked for a cure, but all they had been able to determine was the spell used. It was an ancient spell, one that only worked on purebloods. They believed that it was probably cast on wives who had been unfaithful, but they couldn’t find the counter-curse in time to save Pansy and Ginny.

Unbeknownst to Draco at the time, Pansy wasn’t just chosen because of her connection to Draco. She’d told her mother that she didn’t want to follow the Death Eaters. Her parents had refused care, and Draco’s mother had secretly taken the dying girl in. Molly and Narcissa had often sat vigil together at St. Mungo’s. Two women more disparate in character probably could not be found, yet they were bound together through suffering that mothers should not know.

And yet… here Harry and Draco were. Draco snarled slightly. Both had ruined childhoods, dead godfathers, their girlfriends murdered as punishment, families destroyed; neither could, or had been able to live an ordinary life because of that lunatic, and tonight was the closest thing to civil they had ever been. 

‘ _Why?_ ’ Draco silently asked himself, as he studied a dreaming Harry. ‘ _The two of us are so similar in ways… why is the tension so heavy between us?_ ’

Others had forgiven him his trespasses before. His cousin, Nymphadora, had dinner with him and his mother at least once a week. Many of the Weasleys got along famously with the remaining Malfoys, especially the Delacour-Weasleys. Molly told Narcissa once that Ron even admitted that he just continued most of his animosity in jest and out of habit, that there was no true spite in it anymore.

Yet with Harry… with Harry, Draco would never be anything more than the son of a Death Eater. And as he had said, that wasn’t who he’d fought the war for.

Draco studied his features as he slept. They looked softer in his dreams, and yet, at the same time, stronger as well. The pale moonlight that shone through the open curtains cast shadows across his jaw, accentuating his strong cheekbones that were usually hidden by his awful glasses. His sooty eyelashes looked stark where they fluttered as his eyes moved in dreams.

Draco wondered what he created in his sleep; he wondered if they were magnificent new worlds or past horrors. It was a fifty-fifty Galleon toss with him.

He stretched out his hand and rubbed a lock of Harry’s hair between his fingertips, knowing he’d never get another chance to find out if it was as coarse as it looked. It was surprisingly silky. 

It was even more surprising when Harry purred in his sleep and nuzzled Draco’s hand. Draco snatched it back as though scalded.

Draco hesitated, then tentatively reached out and caressed his palm down Potter’s cheek. Harry turned into it, kissing Draco’s wrist lightly. He let it linger there for a moment before sliding it away; he smiled when Potter pouted at the loss of contact. The frown, though, was quickly erased with a finger across the brow.

Draco was having fun. Harry was not usually this expressive around him, and he was definitely not this malleable.

Playing with his hair made him purr like a cat, his cheeks and jaw made him seek out the hand that was petting him, his neck made him whimper, and anytime Draco quit touching him he would frown. Draco should have left it at that; he should never have traced his chapped lips. Because when Harry darted his tongue out and lipped the tip of his finger, Draco knew he had made a mistake. He leaned over and moved his hand and softly kissed Harry, hoping for the same open expression.

He did not expect to end up on his back on the other side of the bed staring into wide, angry green eyes.

“What the bloody hell are you doing in my room, Malfoy?”

Draco fought to get air back in his lungs; he tried to tell himself that he couldn’t breathe just from being thrown so roughly around, and that it had nothing to do with Potter being on top of him. “I figure that the Weaselette had taught you enough to figure that one out, Potter,” he managed to choke out with a fairly good sneer.

“Fuck you, Malfoy!”

Draco slowly let the sneer morph into a full blown smile; Harry seemed shocked by its appearance. “Seems like a relatively good plan to me. You’re certainly in the right position for it.”

Obviously taken off guard, Potter burst out laughing. Draco put a cease to it by tangling his hands in Harry’s thick ebony locks and pulling his mouth down to his.

He pushed his tongue past Harry’s lips, and Harry’s tongue immediately dueled for dominance. To himself, Draco smiled. ‘ _This_ ,’ he thought, ‘ _could be why we could never get past all our stupid tension_.’

For the first time, he didn’t think he’d mind “losing” to Potter.

****

***************

Harry’s first thought upon waking was about why the sun had to be sadistic enough to shine so brightly the morning after he had taken the piss. His second thought was to wonder why he didn’t feel more hung-over than he did, and his third thought was to wonder why he didn’t have any underwear on.

It was only after that thought that he looked over and noticed the blond in his bed.

“Shit.”

Malfoy smiled against the pillow. “Morning to you too, Potter. Now, can you angst quieter so I can sleep a little longer?”

In spite of himself, Harry snorted and softly scooted from the bed. As he stumbled toward the bathroom, he noticed his boxers lying on the floor by the footboard and bent to retrieve them, wondering how they got there. As he slid the soft cotton over his thighs, memory slammed into him…

_…he fell gracelessly onto the bed, a goofy smile on his face and a bitter, salty flavor to his lips. He’d never given a blowjob before and the experience had been…interesting, to say the least. Next to him, Draco lay replete, his normal sneer somewhat softened post-orgasm. When Harry looked at him, still smiling, he could tell that Draco took it as a challenge of sorts, so he laughed. Draco grinned. “My turn,” he said, almost excited as he slid down the bed. Harry was still laughing at him as his boxers were tugged down his legs, and his hard cock was taken into Draco’s wet, hot mouth…_

…he fell gracelessly against the bed-post as he shook the thought away from him, shocked by the power of the memories that he was reliving. He continued on to the bathroom, hoping that a sobriety and hangover potion might help him understand better what the hell had happened the night before.

He opened the medicine cupboard, where he kept his potions, and reached for one of each. The shelf of sobriety potions was empty, though he was certain there had been two left before he went to work last night. He grabbed a hangover potion, and his other hand hovered in front of the barren shelf.

_“You want one?”_

_Draco laughed. “I stole some earlier, Potter. Did you think I came in here just to molest you?”_

_Harry laughed as he downed his potions, shuddering as they took effect._

_He stood in the doorway of the bathroom staring into his bedroom, looking at the pale expanse of skin laid out on his bed, glowing in the moonlight against the dark contrast of the sheets._

_Nervously, he ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry about the delay. I just want to be sober enough that I have a chance of remembering the rest of tonight.”_

_The vision on the bed chuckled. “You’re just claiming to be drunk as an excuse for why you came so early when I sucked you off.” He smirked._

_Harry ducked his head, blushing slightly, but he was smiling. “No, I’ll blame that on how good you are with that dirty little mouth of yours.”_

_Draco started laughing._

Draco was snoring softly. Harry looked down and realized that the potions vial in his hand was empty. He must have drunk it without realizing.

He made his way down to the kitchen and found a nice strong, freshly brewed pot of tea. He poured himself a cup, whispering, “I love you, Hermione,” as he did so.

He sat down at the small kitchenette table to think, letting the fragrant smell soothe his nerves and his stomach.

He wasn’t surprised that he had woken up in bed with a bloke. He had had thoughts of that for awhile now; opportunity being the one true thing that had kept it from happening before. In truth, Ginny was really the one true female love of his life, and he hadn’t felt a strong attraction toward a woman since her death. He didn’t think she would never want him to find love again, but if he wanted to stay true to her and still act on his desires, perhaps he should simply have different desires. It was as if a switch had been flipped. 

However, the fact that he had woken up in bed with Malfoy truly had him baffled. The last thing he clearly remembered was them arguing about the war.

_“What’s with the name, Potter? I mean, John Black. I don’t know if I fancy you being family.”_

_Harry snorted into his drink. “There are my dogfathers’ names.”_

_“Dogfathers?”_

_“That’s what Snape used to call them. My dogfathers.” Harry sobered slightly, quieting. “The Black is from Sirius. Your cousin. He was my godfather. He was killed…”_

_“By Aunt Bella at the Ministry. I remember.”_

_“The John is Remus. It is his middle name.”_

_“Professor Lupin was your godfather? I didn’t think werewolves could participate in right of inheritance.”_

_“They can’t. After Sirius died, he stepped into the role. Not legally, but emotionally. Especially after Dumbl…” Harry trailed off, staring into his now empty glass._

_Draco downed his glass and poured them both fresh ones. “Do you think this is something we could ever get past? I mean, seriously? My aunt kills your godfather. You imprison my father. You kill my father. You get my aunt killed. We both do a pretty bang-up job at getting my godfather killed. We almost get my mother killed. I get your mentor killed. Do you think this is something that we will later look back on and say, ‘well that was the start of a beautiful friendship?’”_

_The look of disgust on Draco’s face when Harry spit his drink out laughing was worth the loss of a perfectly good shot._

Harry’s tea had gotten cold when Hermione entered the kitchen and started humming to herself as she efficiently started the spells to gets the pans flying around the room making an elaborate breakfast. At first, Harry suspected she didn’t see him. That was until she placed a fresh cup of tea in his hands.

“Ron said you didn’t get in until two-thirty. I thought you said you’d probably close up early.”

“Oh, yeah. Um… well.”

“Ron also happened to mention that you and _Malfoy_ were also rather pissed.”

Harry felt his cheeks gaining heat. “Yeah, I guess.”

“I’m not censuring you, Harry. I think it’s great if the two of you are getting along better.”

The blush was growing; he just knew it. “You do?”

“Of course.” Hermione stopped directing the traffic of the pots and pans and nodded emphatically. She had to dodge a spatula as she turned back to the range. “I see Draco all the time at the Office; he’s matured quite a bit. And I talk to Narcissa with Molly often. She really is quite lovely.”

”So… you think I _should_ talk to him?”

Harry could somehow tell that Hermione rolled her eyes, even though he couldn’t directly see her face. “What have I been saying, Harry? The war took a lot from you both. I think it would do you both good.”

_Harry was right about the fact that nobody else had come into the bar; which was a rather fateful occurrence, since he doubted he could stand properly at the moment, much less serve a room full of patrons._

_“You know what I like about you, Malfoy?” Harry’s words were slurred, but it might have been partially from the way his cheek was pulled up as he leaned his face on his arm. “You don’t give me any bullshit.”_

_Draco answered from where his face was lying in the crook of his arm. “Of course I give you shit, Potter. I give everyone shit.”_

_Harry snickered, causing his arm to slide down, so that he was lying on the bar looking at Malfoy. “That’s not what I meant,” he laughed. “Yeah, you give me shit. You’re a right pain in my ass. But you don’t lie to me. You tell me like it is. Everyone else is so worried about ‘Poor Harry’ or ‘Famous Harry’ that they can’t actually talk to me about all the shit that happened. But to you, you don’t see the scar, you just see a disfigured prat.”_

_“With ugly glasses.”_

_“Huh?”_

_“You’re a disfigured prat with ugly glasses.”_

_“Oh.” Harry snickered and tried to clap Malfoy on the back, falling off his barstool._

_Malfoy reached down to help him up, but when Harry ignored the outstretched hand, he simply shrugged and grabbed the bottle and joined him on the floor. “Thing is, Potter, though you’re just a disfigured prat with ugly glasses, you’re probably one of the only people who would understand the shit I went through with the war. And I know I wouldn’t want your pity, so I’m not going to pity you, either.” Draco smirked and punched Harry playfully on the arm, nearly toppling them both. “You wouldn’t be a worthy adversary if I pitied you.”_

“He’s still a prick, though,” Harry mumbled.

Hermione laughed. “Of course. He wouldn’t be Malfoy if he wasn’t. I’m not saying he’s suddenly Seamus Finnigan, all sunshine and smiles and nice to everyone. But he isn’t Voldemort either, and he’s not even Lucius Malfoy.”

Harry flinched at the not-so-subtle reminder of all the times that they had said that Draco was nothing but a Lucius-clone. The last time he’d said it had been last night.

_He downed his second glass of scotch, glaring at Malfoy over the rim of the glass. “You know, Malfoy, attitudes like that are the very reason that I work here. You really are nothing but a smaller version of your father, aren’t you?”_

_There was a faint flicker of anger in Draco’s grey eyes, but he hid any outward reaction well. Years working for the Ministry had taught him the emotional control that his years in Slytherin House had not. “If that’s all you see, Potter, than you are blinder than those glasses can help you with. I’m not saying that Muggles are inferior. I never said that. Every one here seems like they are decent people. Bruce, for example, does his family proud, producing an heir, upholding tradition. Wonderful sentiments. All I’m saying is that you are wasting yourself by being here instead of in the wizarding world where you belong. You don’t belong listening to Muggles complaining about their jobs while they pretend that the weight of the world is on their shoulders.”_

_Harry shook his head. “These people here are the people I fought the war for, Malfoy.” He poured himself another drink, and some of his anger seemed to drain away as he watched the amber fluid swirl. “Don’t you understand? I killed so that people like Bruce could have this life. I killed so that they could complain about petty little problems and never know that there was something worse out there for them to fear.”_

_“Well, that’s the difference between you and me. I fought for wizards. I fought for my mother, my godfather, for Pansy. I fought for the purebloods and the half-bloods that that maniac was slaughtering all in a stupid pursuit of immortality. I fought to preserve the traditions of our world. The traditions that I learned as a child, that you would have learned if not for him.” Draco grabbed the bottle and just sipped straight off of it. He pointed it at Harry, and again the light of anger caused his eyes to flash silver. “And don’t ever compare me to my father again. The only thing that bastard fought for was his own self-gain.”_

Harry looked at Hermione curiously. “Do you talk to him a lot at work?”

“Why?” Hermione didn’t turn away from the eggs she was scrambling as she asked.

“Did you know that he doesn’t feel as strongly about half-bloods as he does about Muggleborns?”

Hermione laughed. “As he _did_ about Muggleborns, Harry. After all these years, he is allowed to change his opinions, you know. But, yes, as a matter of fact, I did know that. Severus Snape was his godfather, after all. And he was well aware of his blood status.”

“He _knew_ Snape was the Half-Blood Prince?”

“I’m sure the Malfoys did a full genealogy before they appointed him Guardian.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “According to Draco, that is part of the reason Bellatrix never trusted him. It is also why he has no problem with half-bloods. He told me once that Severus proved to him that half-bloods were just as capable of being schooled in propriety and tradition as any pureblood.”

“And who changed his opinions about Muggleborns?” Harry grinned. “As if I need to even ask.”

Hermione beamed. “That would be me.”

_They’d been conversing on almost every subject matter all night, and Harry should have realized it was inevitable that they started talking about blood status. However, Malfoy used the term ‘Muggleborn,’ which was good, because if ‘Mudblood’ had slipped past his lips, Harry was just pissed enough that he would have punched him._

_“Some one said to me once that a Muggleborn child will strive harder to learn to fit their environment so that they are not isolated from their peers.”_

_Harry snorted into his drink. “That sounds like something Hermione would say.”_

_“It does, doesn’t it?” Draco waved his glass in the air, clinking together the nearly melted ice cubes as he continued his speech. “However, that isn’t true of a wizarding child with a poor education. Such a child will assume that they know everything about their society and will not strive to better themselves.”_

_“You’re about to say something bad about the Weasleys, aren’t you?”_

_Draco did a failed attempt to suppress a smile. “Now why would you assume that?”_

_“Shut up and drink, Malfoy. Your lectures are getting droll.”_

_Malfoy snickered into his scotch as he downed the last of the dregs._

Harry fidgeted with his tea cup before standing to refill it. He leaned against the counter behind his best friend. He started to speak several times, faltering, before he quietly asked, “Mione, what if I said that Malfoy and I did more than just talk?”

The bushy-haired brunette slowly turned around. “What do you mean, Harry?” 

“We… um…” Harry trailed off, blushing furiously.

The pots and pans levitating in the sink and on the stove clattered to the counters in a crash as Hermione accidentally let go of the spells. “You did what?!” she yelled, before she burst into fits of giggles. “Are you saying you took advantage of him while he was drunk?” she asked in between peals of laughter.

Harry stared at his friend, incredulous. “Er… shouldn’t you be yelling at me, instead of laughing?”

“Well, it is Malfoy, after all.”

“Good to know that those rigid morals of yours have some standards, Granger.”

Both the Gryffindors turned toward the rather lazy drawl that sounded from the doorway. When Harry saw Draco, immaculately groomed, he ran a nervous hand through his own sleep-tousled hair.

“Malfoy,” Harry greeted him, cursing to himself that he sounded slightly breathless.

“Potter,” Draco returned with a slight uplifting of one corner of his mouth. Harry couldn’t quite determine if it was a smirk or a smile.

“Coffee?” Hermione offered with a grin that was obviously hiding laughter.

“Oh, Merlin, yes,” Draco sighed, and Harry jerked in response.

_Draco sighed as Harry settled between his legs, their hard cocks rubbing against each other. He arched his back, seeking more contact, or perhaps just seeking more. But Harry wasn’t certain. In truth, as much as he wanted Malfoy, he was going to be forced to admit that he had no idea what he was doing._

_“Malfoy,” he groaned, and his desperation must have been evident in his eyes, because the Slytherin answered him without the question ever being asked._

_“What do you wank with, Potter?”_

_Harry hid his blushing face in the crook of Draco’s neck, biting down lightly on the soft skin there. “My hand. Why? What do you wank with, you perv?”_

_Draco laughed, sending vibrations through Harry’s entire body; they seemed to originate at his groin._

_“Lube, you dolt.”_

_Harry laughed and bit down on the tender flesh a little harder. “I knew that, you idiot,” he chuckled as he reached over to grab a bottle from the nightstand, which he handed to the Slytherin._

_Malfoy sat up slightly and poured the oil liberally into Harry’s palm. He dipped his own fingers into and examined it for a moment. “Nice. Granger brew this for you, too?”_

_Harry snickered. “No,” he declared, sounding offended. “As if I’d let her.” He rubbed his palms together, enjoying the slick texture, and the slight warm tingle on the skin, which he knew would be stronger around more sensitive areas. He firmly grasped Draco’s cock and watched his grey eyes flutter closed as he gave a long, low moan. “The Weasley twins brewed it.”_

_Malfoy’s eyes snapped open. “Potter, if my prick falls off, I’m going to…”_

_Keeping his strokes even, Harry firmly pushed Draco’s shoulders back down onto the bed with his other hand. “Some things Gred and Forge don’t joke around about, Malfoy.”_

Harry jumped as Hermione set a plate of food in front of him. He hadn’t realized he’d been lost in thought that long. Draco was just staring at him, a curious half-grin on his face, as if he knew what he was thinking about. Under the table, he felt the slight teasing caress of fingertips against his thigh, then higher as they pressed his hardening erection. Yes, Malfoy knew _exactly_ what he was thinking about. He bit his lip to stifle a groan.

“You alright there, Harry? Ferret’s not giving you a hard time, is he?” Harry looked over at Ron as he bounded down the stairs into the kitchen. Once again, Harry felt heat flood his cheeks, turning them crimson.

“What’s it to you, Weasel? Are you Potter’s protector now?”

Ron grinned suddenly. “Nah, Harry’s a big boy.”

Draco snickered slightly and squeezed Harry’s cock through his jeans. Harry wondered how he could maintain such a solid blush when all the blood in his body seemed to have rushed to his groin. He didn’t know what was worse: sitting through breakfast with the damnable blush, or a rock hard erection while Malfoy taunted him.

All he knew was that the teasing was driving him to distraction.

_When Malfoy had told first told him what to do with his fingers, Harry had been apprehensive. However, he was ever the brave Gryffindor, so he’d literally plunged forward into the act. Soon, he’d lost all his reservation and nerves in watching as Malfoy writhed on the dark green sheets, he back arched as soft moans emitted from his lips when Harry’s fingers twisted and curled in his body._

_He wasn’t certain he’d ever been as turned on as he was at that moment. That is, until Draco spoke. “Sweet Salazar, Potter, would you quit teasing and fuck me already!”_

_Harry stilled, and his nerves came flooding back._

The hand holding the plate of eggs shook, and the dish clattered to the table. Bits of yellow, fluffy egg bounced off the platter in all direction, and everyone just stared at Harry as he mumbled apologies, his face still burning.

He reached for the dish, hoping to salvage some of the eggs, but apparently Draco had the same notion. Their hands met on the porcelain and there was a slight tug of war. Their eyes locked. Draco smirked before letting go. “Go ahead, Potter, take it,” he declared, brushing his hands off on his napkin.

Harry almost dropped the dish again in his haste to flee the room.

_He had been clumsy at first; his entry too rushed, and he knew he’d hurt Malfoy by the hiss of pain he’d unintentionally emitted. But he hadn’t said anything, and it had only been a moment before he’d coaxed Harry into gentle thrusts with his hips. Harry moaned, laying his sweaty forehead on Draco’s back. He felt too good; the muscles clenching him were hot and tight. He wouldn’t last like this._

_Harry’s movements were shallow as he desperately fought for control. Draco groaned and thrust back against him, squeezing the muscles of his arse tight around Harry’s cock. “Go ahead, Potter,” he challenged, “take it.”_

_Harry whimpered softly, wanting to do just that. He slipped his left hand to curl around Malfoy’s hip, while his right hand slid up his sweaty back to brace along his shoulder. He plunged in harder, pulling Malfoy back so that he arched up to meet his thrusts._

_He was rewarded with a deep satisfied groan from the Slytherin, and he was lost. In a frenzy, he pounded into the pale, lithe body in front of him; he didn’t know if it was punishment or pleasure until Malfoy gave a long, heartfelt cry and pulsed his come out over the sheets. As he clenched around Harry’s cock, Harry felt his balls tighten and he let go, riding out his orgasm._

_When he collapsed next to Malfoy, the blond chuckled slightly. “Fuck, Potter. Why are we enemies again?”_

_Harry laughed and grabbed his wand, casting cleansing charms over them. He was asleep soon afterwards._

If Harry wanted to hide, he wouldn’t have gone to the owlery, where he always went to mope. Granted, it was doubtful that Malfoy would look for him there, but Ron found him in mere moments.

He sat on the floor next to Harry, and reached over to ruffle Hedwig’s feathers. Hedwig preened slightly at the attention.

“You all right there, mate?” Ron asked.

Harry rubbed his forehead with the flat of his hand. “No. I think I’m going crazy.”

“Shite, Harry…”

He looked over to see his best friend’s face ashen, his eyes wide with fear. “What’s the matter, Ron?”

“I was going to ask you that.” Ron sounded shaken. “Is…is your _scar_ hurting?”

With a slight snicker, Harry lowered his hand. “Only because I think my entire head might explode.”

Ron blew out a gust of air. “Don’t scare me like that. Merlin, I thought you were going to tell me that You-Know-Who was back!”

Harry chuckled again. “Nope, nothing that scary. I don’t think. Though you might try to lock me in St. Mungo’s, so maybe it is rather frightening.” Ron waited patiently, so Harry finally blurted, “I’m thinking of asking Malfoy to dinner.”

Ron didn’t say anything for a long moment before he suddenly started snickering. Harry blinked at him. “Ron?”

Ron’s laughter just got worse. “Good thing I know that you can resist _Imperius_ , mate,” he crowed, falling over to the owlery floor.

Harry just stared at his friend in disbelief. Surely this was not the Ronald Weasley who had taken every possible chance to lament the horrors of the Malfoy family. He must have misunderstood what Harry had said. “Don’t you have something else to say, Ron?” he asked nervously. “Did you understand what I meant? Aren’t you surprised?”

Ron sat back up and struggled to brush the loose owl feathers from his shoulders and hair. He gave Harry a rather impish grin. “I’m not surprised you fancy blokes, if that’s what you mean. You spent all of the last family gathering chumming around with Charlie, and you are _not_ that interested in dragons.” Ron snickered slightly. “Unless, apparently, they’re blond gits.”

“Aren’t you upset that it’s _Malfoy_ that I want to ask out?” Harry asked, confused. “Don’t you _hate_ him?”

Ron stood, offering a hand up to Harry. “Don’t you wonder how I sat in the Pub with him night after night without a single insult, Harry? Or without a hex thrown this morning?” Ron shook his head. “I haven’t _actually_ hated Malfoy in years. It is just a lot of fun to keep pretending.”

Harry watched his best friend walk out of the owlery chuckling to himself, and he couldn’t decide what was stranger: the fact that he was attracted to Draco Malfoy, or the fact that Ron Weasley didn’t care.

The entire morning was becoming simply too surreal.

The feeling didn’t go away when he returned to the kitchen and saw Malfoy and Hermione, heads bent, whispering over their cups of coffee as Dobby cleaned the kitchen table. He studied them for a moment, and got the distinct impression that they knew each other better than he’d ever realized.

“What do you do at the Ministry, Malfoy?” he inquired, causing them to jump apart guiltily.

“Why do you ask, Potter?”

“Just curious.”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you.”

“If I had a better reason than curiosity, could you tell me?”

Draco sneered. “Well, your reason was rather lame, but no, I simply can’t say.”

Harry groaned at hearing those words. “You’re an Unspeakable! You two work in the same bloody department!”

“We-“

“Right… can’t say. I know.” Harry glared at Hermione. “I’ve heard that plenty.”

Draco’s smirk transformed into the rare smile that Harry had glimpsed for the first time the night before. “Honestly, _John Black_ , didn’t you ever wonder how I knew where you worked?”

Harry’s jaw dropped open in shock. He turned to Hermione, who quickly stood. “That, I believe, is my cue to leave,” she laughed as she hurried from the room.

“Why would Hermione tell you where I worked?” Harry whispered once the two of them were alone.

“We talk a lot at the office. She knew that you… needed some one other than her and Ron to talk to. She thought that person might be me.”

“She didn’t suspect that we would…”

“End up shagging like Veelas in heat? I don’t think so; but with Granger, you never know.” Draco smirked. “Did you and the Weasel have a good talk?”

“I told him I was going to ask you out,” Harry blurted.

Draco’s smirk grew. He moved closer to Harry, and ran his fingers through his messy locks of hair, extracting an owl feather. “Did he expound upon you my evilness? Remind you about all my past sins, and how I’m the cause of all your past misery and woes.”

Harry grinned and pulled on Malfoy’s hips, bringing him even closer. “And if he did?”

Draco looked at him, his grey eyes shining. His tongue darted out and moistened his lips. “I’d be curious about what you told him.”

“I told him that it all sounded like the start of a beautiful friendship,” Harry laughed, before reaching to cover those soft lips with his own.

****

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